


I Would Give 'Til We Wore It Out

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Family, Friendship, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Barton knew Clint Barton, then she didn’t, then she did again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Give 'Til We Wore It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _The Avengers: Age of Ultron_ and features spoilers for that and the previous _Avengers_ film.  
>  Title is a lyric from 'Life Goes On' by LeAnn Rhimes.

 

 

 

Laura was stirring a pot of chilli on the stove and paging through the paperwork that’d come with the recent mower parts when a folded square of paper fell out. It was a note from Tony Stark, explaining a little about the parts and also asking how exactly Laura and Clint had met. Tony apparently still wasn’t allowed access to Clint’s SHIELD file, despite his best efforts, and there were gaps in his knowledge that he wanted gone. His current list of guesses was thorough and hilarious – had Laura known Clint since childhood? Had they met at school? On the road? Had Laura gotten caught up in some op that Clint had been part of? Was she really a deep-cover agent? (He still wasn’t giving that one up)

 

Laura laughed and folded the paper away, one eye still on the chilli.

 

It was definitely weird, Tony Stark sending her notes about farm parts and the origins of her relationship with her husband. She’d known when Clint had joined SHIELD that weird was going to be their wheelhouse, a different weird to the one she and Clint were used to. But Clint had told her a lot about Tony Stark and she could see the man who’d become her husband’s friend as well as the pretty outrageous mogul who was rarely out of the media spotlight. Laura knew a showman putting on a performance when she saw one.

 

This wasn’t the first Tony note she’d received. Clint was semi-retired and now some of his teammates knew about his family so Laura got some regular contact from them. She wasn’t complaining. The farm, her kids, it was all hard work and mostly worth it. It didn’t exactly offer a wide circle of friends though.

 

Tony also wanted to know just how Nat had been introduced to Laura. When they’d all been gathered at the farm that day and Tony had brought up the topic over dinner, Nat had replied with a challengingly-straight face.

 

“We fought obviously.”

 

Laura had nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling, “There was hair-pulling.”

 

Lucky barked from beside Mel who had been creating a masterpiece with crayons and had called out, “Hair-pulling’s not allowed!”

 

She was right.

 

*

 

When the news hit about the attack on New York, Laura grabbed the go-bags that she kept packed for herself and the kids. She sent check-in messages to Natasha, Phil and Clint. She didn’t run. She sat in the kitchen and told stories to the kids, Lucky sat beside them, and made sure they knew what to do. They were so little but they could remember what their parents had told them and were eager for adventures, Mel wrapped up in her homemade quilt, Owen clutching his action figures. Laura wished the horses were closer.

 

When Natasha eventually called, she was brief but emphatic – Clint was fine, he hadn’t been for a while but he was fine now. Natasha had made sure of it. He’d probably be complaining about a headache though.

 

“He’s blaming himself,” Natasha added, after explaining about extremely powerful and manipulative aliens and how Clint’s thoughts had been warped, a fact that made Laura bite her lip hard enough to bleed. “And he shouldn’t, it wasn’t him. It wouldn't have been any of us.”

 

Laura nodded even though Natasha couldn’t see her. Clint was all right, Natasha was talking to her. They’d both been part of a group, lead by Captain America, that had saved New York. Clint and Natasha were heroes. They were alive, they were alive.

 

God, she needed to see them. She needed to hug Clint; the news had been full of images of destructive alien creatures. Natasha had confirmed that. Laura wanted to hear everything; she wanted to know what the world had become and her husband’s place in it. She wanted her husband.

 

She hugged her kids and told Natasha, “Come home soon, Nat.”

 

It was hours later when Natasha and Clint finally appeared. They both looked worn through. Laura knew that expression of Clint’s; he’d been wearing something like it before he’d faded away all those years ago. She let the kids run out first to embrace Clint and their Aunt Nat, Lucky bounding over just as eagerly. Laura went with them and hugged Clint around the kids, breathing him in. There was blood scent and a strange new smell; it wasn’t pleasant. They kissed and didn’t let go. Then Laura tugged Nat close for a one-armed hug. Natasha went willingly.

 

“The news...”

 

“It’s worse,” Clint told her, dust still caught in corners of his skin. “It’s so much worse.”

 

But he told the kids about how he’d fired arrows and flown with Iron Man and how their Aunt Nat had grabbed a ride on a flying alien craft. Laura made tea and Clint sat down, his arm immediately wrapping around her waist when she drew near. He talked until the kids got tired and finally went to sleep after hearing that Aunt Nat would be there for breakfast.

 

Nat took a seat opposite Clint and motioned for Laura to sit down too. Something cold dropped in Laura’s stomach as Clint held her hand; she knew that look. This was going to be very bad news.

 

They told her about Phil’s death. Shock and tiredness combined with the recent release of awful tension after waiting all day caused a whole maelstrom of emotion to shudder through Laura. Clint and Natasha both seemed past shock now and into a deeper kind of grief. Phil had been one of the few people at SHIELD that they'd both considered a friend, that they’d both actually trusted. He’d changed both their lives. Now his had been taken.

 

Laura didn’t know when she eventually fell asleep but she dreamed of the quilt she’d made for Phil, Clint was still holding her hand and Natasha was still there in the morning. Thank God.

 

*

 

Laura met Natasha Romanoff when Clint brought her home. Home was a little place out in Wisconsin, Clint kept an apartment close to SHIELD HQ but this was home. They didn’t own a lot of stuff, it suited them. There’d been years when they hadn’t seen each other at all, when Clint had cut himself off from everybody. Laura had a lot to thank Phil Coulson for.

 

Laura had gotten back from working at the store and was sorting through a handful of knives when the door opened with a familiar telling jingle of keys. Then Clint walked in with a redhead that had to be Natasha, Clint had talked about her a lot lately. That marked her out as different from everyone else he worked with bar one. Anyone Clint was that verbal about was important and, from past experience, soon became part of Laura’s life too. Clint didn’t exactly pick up strays though Laura always teased him that he did. It was more than that and they both knew it. Family was like that, for better or for worse.

 

So Laura was definitely curious, wanting to know which Natasha was. Natasha’s apparently-unaffected gaze took in Laura and the apartment itself. One of her eyebrows rose when she noticed the knives that Laura was holding. Clint wrapped his arms briefly around Laura and kissed her without pretense. Laura leaned into his warmth and that Clint-smell that meant he was fine, he was here, (no blood this time) before her gaze traveled back to Natasha, who was looking around, processing everything. It wasn’t visible; her expression was vague and polite, like most people would be when meeting a complete stranger. But Laura knew Clint; she knew what Natasha was doing.

 

Natasha had only officially been part of SHIELD for a month and the way Clint told it, she rarely opened up, unsurprisingly, and only to him and to Phil who’d taken on being her handler. The Director wanted to be convinced this was a smart idea; he’d wanted the same thing when Clint had first joined up.

 

“I’ve been looking for that,” Clint commented, taking a bone-handled knife from Laura.

 

Laura shook her head, “You really didn’t think to check the silverware drawer.”

 

“In case of emergencies...”

 

Clint trailed off, leaving a hand at Laura’s back, a reassurance. Well, Laura had hoped to meet Natasha, the person that Clint had put a lot on the line for. She was really striking to look at and her eyes were sharper than the knives Laura was still holding. The way she held herself, Clint had commented that she’d kicked his ass too many times to count in sparring. Laura wondered if Phil would ever let her look at that footage.

 

She held out a knife-free hand, “Hi, you’re the one that makes Clint feel like an old man in training.”

 

Natasha’s mouth twitched and her handshake was powerful, as though fueled by that memory. Clint nudged Laura. “Hey, I didn't say that.”

 

Laura grinned up at her husband and squeezed Natasha’s hand gently before letting go, “It’s good. He needs the workout.”

 

“He does.”

 

“Well I’m already regretting this,” Clint informed them, even though he was smiling, pleased.

 

Laura nudged him before he got too smug because yes, she got it, Natasha was apparently comfortable enough here to joke. When Clint had talked about bringing Natasha in, he’d compared it to how he’d felt when Phil had recruited him, how much that decision had changed things. He’d told Laura that Natasha was extremely dangerous, that she had been for a really long time and that she was wanted all over the world. But she’d joined SHIELD because Clint had talked to her.

 

“Coffee, tea or something stronger?” Laura asked her.

 

Natasha tilted her head and was silent for a moment or two. “Tea.”

 

It sounded like a considered weighty decision and almost like a revelation to her. Clint had mentioned that she’d been under orders for probably as long as she could remember. Actual choice was something she was still treading into. So was Natasha actually making choices for herself yet or for the employers she’d left behind, if the kind of training she’d been through ever actually left her? Laura herself still got up at dawn most days even though she wasn’t living on her family's farm anymore. Clint hadn’t ever stopped keeping his ammo and arrows the way he’d been taught, even after everything. Some things couldn’t be undone.

 

Laura nodded Natasha towards the kitchen and left Clint with the TV and the knives. He’d probably start sharpening them while _Say Yes To The Dress_ was on, he’d found out that Phil was a fan and liked to drop relevant information into conversations just to unnerve other agents.

 

In the tiny kitchen, Laura got out a green and white teapot and showed Natasha where the tea was kept so that she could choose one. Natasha chose a Gensing and Laura quickly made a pot, leaving it to brew. She and Natasha looked at each other – Natasha was all in form-fitting black, it could have been a SHIELD uniform. Another habit. Laura was in a pair of Clint’s old jeans, a pale orange vest and a sloppy cardigan with large buttons. She felt more than a little grubby and underdressed; Natasha looked like she should be a cover girl. Laura wondered what Natasha saw when she looked at her.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Laura told her. “Clint enthused; he doesn’t enthuse about people, apart from Phil. And he never brings people home.”

 

“Apart from Phil.”

 

Laura smiled at Natasha’s guess. Phil was Phil; he’d gotten Clint out of whatever he’d been burying himself in for years. Clint had told her as much about that time as she could get out of him. It was part of him, just like SHIELD was. Phil was a great guest – he was sardonic and informative, he always told stories about Clint that made Laura laugh. He brought great wine and really good coffee and had told recently them that he knew of some viable land in various different states if they were serious about the having-their-own-farm thing.

 

Natasha’s expression rippled, “He doesn’t talk about you.”

 

Laura nodded, turning to pour the tea. Maybe Natasha expected her to be hurt by that but they didn’t know each other and Laura doubted Natasha knew all of Laura and Clint’s story. “And he doesn’t wear a ring.”

 

At least, not on view. He actually wore one on a chain around his neck, always hidden, his version of dog-tags he called it. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much protection from whoever in the midst of Clint’s past or present might want to hit him where it hurt. But it was something. And neither Clint nor Laura was willing to run away from this, this place, their rings.

 

Natasha was a semi-frequent guest from that point on. Laura knew what Clint looked like when he was wearing a mask, she felt like she learned Natasha’s as well or maybe Natasha just let her think that or actually let her learn. Natasha did seem to relax around the Bartons and realize that the only thing expected of her was friendship. She spoke in Russian and mocked Clint’s accent, though seemed delighted when Laura spoke it. She frequently brought different kinds of tea with her and had bets going with Laura about which part of the eventual farm Clint was going to renovate next. She rode horses with Laura several times; Laura made her a quilt for Christmas. Natasha and Phil got Clint to the local hospital when Laura was in labor with Mel; Nat herself was present for Owen’s birth.

 

She took a bullet for Clint twice and a knife to the thigh. She acted as Clint’s next-of-kin, as did Phil, and he did the same for them. She told Laura that there were a lot of rumors at SHIELD about her and Clint. Of course there were – Natasha was gorgeous and she and Clint worked closely together, Clint had persuaded her to join SHIELD in the first place. Laura knew what his work could be like; she knew the lines he’d had to cross. He told her and of course she worried and sometimes it hurt, sometimes she had to take time to deal with it, sometimes a lot of time. She knew that Clint and Natasha shared a bond; it meant they’d always go back for each other if anything happened.

 

Natasha was family, for the better.

 

*

 

Laura was working on the Milton’s accounts. She was almost done with them in fact. She could hear Phil talking quietly to Clint as they both took a look under the hood of Clint’s latest fixer-upper. Phil stated that he knew enough to help; as he’d pointed out, not knowing how to fix basic engine problems was an issue when there was no back-up and a mission to complete. So he was out there, still dressed for work. Clint always claimed that Phil spent as much money on suits as he did on coffee and Phil was always serious about coffee. He’d bought Laura and Clint a ridiculous coffee maker for Christmas.

 

He’d taken his tie off though and rolled it up into his jacket pocket, his jacket was hung up by the door. Laura smiled faintly to herself as she finished her second double-check. There, Hugh could have his books back tomorrow and she could get paid. Then she’d move onto the next set of books, the next business, and she was still only halfway through the quilt she was making Phil. Their 'neighborhood' if it could be called that was quiet with no actual immediate neighbors, but there was always plenty to do.

 

A steaming cup of coffee was set at her elbow. Phil had entered the room silently, of course, and was giving her her space, choosing to stand against the sideboard. He had hardly any grease on him and he looked tired. It must have been a long day if Phil was actually allowing that to show through.

 

Laura drank her coffee gratefully before thanking him, adding “Using your mind-reading powers for good?”

 

“A daily decision,” replied Phil with a slight smile, which grew as Lucky trotted in and nudged insistently to be petted.

 

Phil had his own cup of coffee and was glancing out of the window. There wasn’t much to see but it was home, for now. Laura and Clint were still talking over the possibility of eventually buying a farm and Phil knew it. Laura pulled her hair back into a loose braid so that it was at least off her face.

 

“Any life left out there?” she asked, amusement playing her expression as she heard Clint curse.

 

Phil’s expression matched hers, “Depends how you define life.”

 

Laura laughed and got up to put away the books for delivery the next day. If they did go through with the buying-a-farm idea, it’d be a good outlet for Clint’s constant need to tinker, to be doing something. It’d be good for him after the really bad days.

 

Laura picked up her coffee again and arched a look toward Phil that was definitely teasing, “You know, there’s talk of a cellist...”

 

Phil didn’t look surprised, “I think two of the best assets that SHIELD has on its books need to relearn the definition of ‘in confidence’.”

 

He knew that the only reason Clint and Natasha had said anything to Laura was because they thought it was worth mentioning, because it could be serious. When did Phil ever have the time for that? Also, Clint and Natasha loved to tease him, out of earshot of everyone else.

 

Laura reached out to clink her cup against his. Phil was smiling again, that small pleased smile that meant a lot more than most of his expressions. Anyway, that was all Laura was going to say about it for now. She finished her coffee and headed into the kitchen to rinse the cup and grab some knives. If the garage was open, they might as well make use of what was in there.

 

She swung back into the lounge and gestured to Phil with the knives. His smile changed but it wasn’t a refusal. He might not decide to take part but he’d definitely watch her and Clint. Phil was a good marksman; he had to be. He also frequently pointed out that Clint’s ego didn’t need bolstering.

 

Clint was still up to his elbows in engines and grease. Laura was due to take a look at the Walkers’ horses; Penelope was having a foot problem. Sometimes Laura could help, she knew enough about horses. It’d been too long since she’d taken a ride over that hill. She brushed a hand to Clint’s hip as she passed; he pressed into her touch but only gave her his full attention once she emerged from the garage with the target series. There were a lot of tears in them now but seeing as there were few trees nearby to aim at, the targets still always got used.

 

Laura handed Clint one set and started work on unpacking the second. She brushed a fingertip over one of the rents; she could still remember the look on Clint’s face when she’d done that. Clint kissed her shoulder; clearly he remembered too. Spend enough time around a circus...

 

Phil held his coffee cup pointedly close. He clearly hadn’t forgotten the time that Clint had managed to take a cup clean out of his hand using only a throwing axe.

 

The first of Clint’s blades got buried in the stake holding up the first target, then another hit a bullseye and another hit right next to the previous one. Laura smiled and threw her first knife anyway.

 

*

 

“Laura Miller?”

 

Laura threaded a needle before answering, “Yes?”

 

The voice sounded official and she didn’t have time for sales. It turned out that she had time for this though.

 

“My name is Philip Coulson. I work with Clint Barton.”

 

Laura put the needle down. Clint had said that she’d get a call. He’d hoped it’d be Coulson who called. “And that’s what you want to talk about.”

 

“Do you have time today? I can be there in half an hour.”

 

Efficient. Clint had mentioned that too, he always pushed to find people’s limits, how they’d be a problem. Teamwork hadn’t been his wheelhouse since way back when. But he was always there when Coulson ordered him to be. He didn’t want to let Coulson down. Laura hadn’t heard Clint talk about someone that enthusiastically since Jacques and Buck. So she wanted to meet Couslon, maybe as much as he wanted to meet her.

 

“The bell’s broken so you’ll have to knock.”

 

Sure enough, Coulson made it from wherever he’d been to Laura’s front door in half an hour. She had coffee waiting. A pair of half-mended trousers and patterns for quilts were strewn across the table and the couch, demonstrating what Coulson had interrupted. Coulson was a nondescript man in a suit; he actually looked like a salesman, not like the dryly-sarcastic boss who apparently regularly watched the TLC Network. He smiled sincerely but Laura knew Clint and didn’t believe it yet. Coulson was Clint’s boss and apparently Laura had a lot to thank him for. That all depended.

 

Laura shook his hand, “Mr Coulson.”

 

“Ms Miller, can I come in?”

 

He wasn’t assuming anything. Laura let him in and offered him coffee, which he accepted as he sat down. Laura sat down opposite him, with at least one knife within reach. They were assessing each other, that much was obvious.

 

“So, Clint’s okay?” Laura led with because there was always that horrible possibility.

 

“He’s fine,” Coulson replied quickly. “I can’t tell you where he is but he’s fine.”

 

Laura nodded, not pressing him on it. It wasn’t like she didn’t know. Clint told her as much as he could, classified or not.

 

Coulson’s expression changed a fraction, “You already know where he is.”

 

True. Laura smiled slightly, “I’m pretty sure you knew that.”

 

“And what he’s doing.”

 

“And what he’s doing.”

 

Coulson nodded and drank his coffee before speaking. He had an excellent poker face, the coffee was the cheap stuff. “Strictly speaking, you should be signing a lot of documents in triplicate.”

 

“Strictly speaking?”

 

There was something amused in Coulson’s expression now, “You live out of the way, I got hold of your contact details through Barton. ‘Off the grid’ seems to be the operative word here.”

 

He didn’t say that Clint was being paranoid or that Laura would have to stay away from him and SHIELD. Clint had said that Coulson could be trusted. He wasn’t sure about the Director yet but Clint also thought that was the way the Director liked it.

 

Still Laura’s eyebrows lifted, “And SHIELD are okay with that?”

 

Clint had had to sign a lot of papers when he’d first joined SHIELD. Coulson sipped his coffee.

 

“As far as official records are concerned, I’m Clint Barton’s next of kin. That won’t change.” Coulson put his cup down. “Everyone’s got someone they want to keep in the loop. How many succeed is undocumented.”

 

Because SHIELD policy was for no next-of-kins to know the whole truth. Did Coulson have someone though? Clint had been trying to find out. Laura smiled, from Coulson’s expression he apparently knew what she was thinking and was used to ignoring that kind of nosiness. Laura’s smile grew; she could see why Clint had enthused about Coulson.

 

“SHIELD does what it can for its employees' families. But there aren’t any guarantees,” Coulson commented.

 

Of course there weren’t. Laura had lived through family joining the forces and not coming home, through other relatives dying unexpectedly, through losing the only place she'd ever thought of as home. Of course living through that didn’t make it any easier to deal with again; Laura still missed them, still ached at the loss. She and Clint were still talking about marriage.

 

“Life doesn’t stop,” was all she said.

 

Coulson didn’t say anything in response. He’d been military in some way, Laura could tell. Coulson must have done his research, he had to know about Jacques and Buck and Barney. He’d recruited Clint anyway, a lot of people wouldn’t have. Clint’s reputation spoke for itself.

 

Clint was a tool for SHIELD, both Laura and Clint knew that. According to Clint, Coulson had never pretended otherwise. He’d pointed out that Clint would get paid regularly though and work with people who weren’t as likely to stab him in the back for a higher payout. He hadn’t claimed Clint would be fine, that Clint wasn’t disposable. He wore a mask as well as Clint did but Laura could sense the friendship there because she knew Clint, she knew the circus. SHIELD was a different kind but they both involved a lot of high-wire balancing acts.

 

Okay, like Clint, Laura wanted to know more. Coulson was good company. And he was apparently honest through his mask. Laura didn’t reach for any knives yet. She offered Coulson more coffee, kept an eye on him and picked up her needle.

 

*

 

Laura was sure she was seeing things. So she ignored him and carried on buying groceries, a list ticking over in her head. Then she spied him again, he had to be a weird reflection. She had numbers to focus on, groceries to buy. Aunt Susan was expecting a phone-call and letter. Laura hated talking about what had happened to the family farm but family was family, what was left of it.

 

Laura shut her eyes to what she definitely wasn’t seeing and headed home. Her heart was hurting as she now thought inevitably about family, friends and circuses. She usually tried to focus on the good memories instead of the loss and pain. Life had to go on. She had work to do and bills to pay.

 

When she got home, someone was already there. She could hear the whisper of telltale movement. She dropped her groceries in the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the knifeblock. Memories could be useful. This wouldn’t be the first time she'd appreciated what she’d learned at Carson’s Carnival for years on end.

 

There was a figure near her couch and when he turned, Laura still didn’t drop the knife. Her heart didn’t stop hurting either.

 

Clint Barton had a few more scars, there were probably more she couldn’t see. His hair was shorter and his eyes were all grown up. It startled her how much of Barney she could see in his expression. Clint stared at her, he opened his mouth but no words spilled out. The questions Laura had, Jacques? Buck? Barney? bubbled up inside of her. Clint shook his head.

 

“Just me.”

 

Like that wasn’t enough. There was another look in his eyes now that Laura recognized, from family, from back when news about Misty had first arrived. Laura dropped the knife and hugged him fiercely; pressing her face to his neck, feeling him tremble. That was new. She'd kick him later. He smelled the same but there was the smell of blood in there too. Laura knew that smell. She didn’t ask, not yet. Her heart hurt for him now too.

 

*

 

Shoved between the pages of one of Laura’s old books was a collection of circus fliers, some of them advertized The World’s Greatest Marksman.

 

Laura didn’t look at them now. She had done a bit to start with; she always had when Carson’s Carnival had left for the season, thinking of her friends, thinking of Clint. But Clint Barton had left the circus. When the circus had called without him, Laura hadn’t even thought about searching out Barney and she hadn’t asked Jacques or Buck, she hadn’t ever liked the way Jacques had looked at her.

 

It’d been five years since she’d last seen Clint. It’d been seven years since Misty had died overseas, ten since Dad had died from a bad fall. There were animals to feed and muck out (though not as many as before), fields to see to (though not as many as before), quilts to mend and make for the winter and Mom always needed help with the accounts. Life didn’t stop.

 

So Laura didn’t look at them. But she turned over the memories attached to them; the right way to handle and throw a knife, how to use a couple of different kinds of bow, how to fall without hurting yourself, the different names she’d learned for familiar constellations in the prettiest sky. The way Clint Barton had smelled, how he’d kissed.

 

How Pallace had died in the circus ring, how Clint had held her when news of Misty’s death had reached them, how he and his brother had thrown punches and how Jacques had encouraged them.

 

Laura went downstairs and opened an accounts book, passed onto her by Neville via Mom. He’d heard that she had a head for figures and wanted her eye on what his books. He was willing to pay and they needed it, the farm needed all the help it could get.

 

Life went on.

 

*

  
  
“Last place I saw the sky this clear was Texas.”

 

“Was it this pretty?”

 

“Always.”

 

Laura laughed quietly. Clint was always teasing her and he knew that the sky over the farm would always be the prettiest. He sat down beside her and lay back, his arm brushing his. Laura didn’t gasp or freeze, she smiled and settled into that feeling. Amongst the animal feed and hay and candy-corn, she could smell Clint. She liked that.

 

She knew he liked laying down beside her; that much was obvious. For the third summer in a row, Carson’s Carnival had come to the Miller farm and had put on a week of shows. For the third summer in a row, Laura had helped out - tearing tickets, mucking out animals, helping with quick costume changes, important props, setting up and taking down. In return, she got a small piece of money to take home on top of what her family got for the rent of the field each day. She also got to hang out with her friends and learn about wire walking, knife throwing, tumbling and fire eating to name a little of what she’d been taught. Some of the carnies were trying to scare her, she knew that – Barney always was - but she tried to learn anyway. Where else would she get the opportunity? It was a lot of fun.

 

Her Dad only asked her to be fit for work the next morning and to be smart. He was grateful for the money too. They’d lost three more farm hands during the last few months; they’d had to sell more animals than they’d wanted to.

 

Clint had thanked her once for sharing her home. Neither Clint nor Barney ever talked much about theirhome; They never talked about their parents either.

 

Laura levered up and kissed Clint. His mouth opened under hers and his callused hands touched her arms, her back. Her callused hands touched his. Just like every year. It shouldn’t feel new, it hadn’t been for a while, but it did.

 

*

 

There was a sound on the wind that wasn’t an animal or farm hand. Laura paused where she was, right in the middle of walking one of the fields with her Dad. He’d stopped too, one hand in his pocket like always, his face brown and creased from the sun. He tilted his head slightly.

 

“Sounds like we’ve got a show coming.”

 

“Like the one at Haymarket?”

 

That’d been a carnival with animals and acts like tumblers and sword-swallowers. It’d been the talk of the town for a long while. It’d been fun for sure. Her Dad nodded.

 

“I reckon so and it looks like they’re heading this way.”

 

Laura gazed out across the field and thought she saw a couple of bright spots of color, a flapping flag or two. The music was starting to get louder.

 

“You think they’ll ask to use a field?”

 

Dad shrugged up a shoulder, “Could be Haymarket’s busy enough. They’d have plenty of room out here.”

 

Laura’s gaze was still on the musical approach, “They’d pay to use a field, right?”

 

Dad made a thoughtful noise. A show and a bunch of strangers could bring trouble and a field would get trampled but there was at least two that weren’t being used this season, they might as well make money another way. The farm needed it. If the show needed help, maybe they’d pay extra for another pair of hands. Laura had free time most days though the accounts were taking up more of her time as was treating Fallon’s ringworm. Of course if Sedge left like he’d said he was going to and Misty joined up like Aaron had, that would leave more work for her, for all of them. Money was money though and having new people around, that could be fun too if it was anything like Haymarket.

 

“Let’s talk it over with your mom,” Dad reminded her. “And this field needs seeing to first.”

 

So the two of them walked the rest of the field, planning what they could afford this year. Laura thought about how a little money from the circus might help out. It really could. The music was getting louder.

 

_-the end_


End file.
